


Angst Meme Prompts

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom, borderlands 2 - Fandom, borderlands: the pre-sequel
Genre: Blood, Breakups, Death, F/M, Identity Issues, Implied Non-Con, Jack is an awful father, M/M, MurderHusbands, Rhys as Jack's PA, Smoking, Strangulation, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Relationships, Vampire AU, anger issues, injuries, jack is bad news
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 04:44:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7345396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of prompts I did for an <a href="http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com/post/145240586214/angsty-drabble-prompts">Angst Meme</a> on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breakup, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack doesn't take people leaving him well. Not well at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #20 for ssealdog: “I would kill for you. Isn’t that enough?” Rhack
> 
> Warnings: anger issues

“Look, you ungrateful little shit - I would _kill_ for you. I _have_ killed for you. Isn’t that enough?”

Rhys sighs, and Jack doesn’t understand what’s going on behind his eyes, not at all. “You kill people just for annoying you, Jack, that’s not exactly a huge sacrifice.”

“You want me to sacrifice something for you? You looking for a grand gesture, is that it?” Jack’s trying to keep a hold on his temper and on the frustration that this is all going sideways. He doesn’t know what Rhys _wants_ from him.

“I don’t want anything from you,” Rhys says as if he can read Jack’s mind, and Jack goes cold. “Not anymore.”

This - this can’t be happening. “Is this - is this some kind of fucking joke? Because let me tell you, we’ve got to work on your sense of humor, kiddo-”

“Jack.” Rhys cuts him off. “It’s over. We’re done.”

He gets up and heads for the door, and Jack sees red.

He doesn’t remember getting up, can’t recall crossing the room to catch up with Rhys, but he feels distinctly the surprised tensing of Rhys’ muscles as Jack catches his shoulder and slams his back into the wall.

“We are not _done_ ,” Jack snarls, and sees the beginnings of fear in Rhys’ eyes. Good. If he can’t have -

If Rhys won’t -

At least he can have _this_.

Jack grips Rhys’ jaw, fingers digging into the soft skin under his chin. “Oh pumpkin,” he says pleasantly, and is pleased to see Rhys’ face blanch. “I am nowhere _near_ done with you yet.”

Jack doesn’t care _how_ Rhys looks at him, as long as he does.


	2. Breakup, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone who doesn't know Jack as well as Rhys does might think that there's a way out here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #4: “Do you ever wonder–what’s the point?” Rhack
> 
> Warnings: strangulation

“Do you ever wonder,” Jack says conversationally, leaning back, “what is the _point_?”

Rhys sucks in a huge gasp of air and coughs as Jack’s fingers loosen around his throat. The spots dancing in his vision gradually fade as oxygen floods back into his lungs. Jack doesn’t appear to notice, looking thoughtfully off to the side, thumb stroking absently up and down Rhys’ neck.

“I mean,” and here Jack laughs, sharp-edged but still sounding as if he’s trying to puzzle something out. “You put all this _effort_ into someone, and they think they can just walk _away_.” Jack looks back down at Rhys, and his face is relaxed, curious, but his eyes are _burning_. “What do you think, Rhysie - what’s that about?”

Jack’s looking at him like he really expects an answer, still sitting astride Rhys’ hips and pinning him to the floor. Jack’s hands flex around Rhys’ neck, and if Rhys didn’t know better he would think that was a heavy reminder that Jack could turn homicidal again at any moment and that Rhys had better say something quick to save himself.

But he knows Jack by now. Rhys clears his throat, wincing at the soreness there, and Jack raises his eyebrows with interest.

“Jack,” Rhys says clearly and distinctly, “go fuck yourself.”

“Oh _ho_ , wrong answer, babe,” Jack says as his fingers tighten again, and as Rhys’ vision starts to fade he hears Jack say, “But hey - it’s not like there was a right one."


	3. Breakup, Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys wakes up again. He hadn't expected that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #18 for Anon: “We chose each other. But it was the wrong choice, wasn’t it?” Rhack
> 
> Warnings: implied non-con, smoking, brief suicidal ideation, Jack is Bad News

Rhys wakes up again. He hadn’t expected that. **  
**

Jack is sitting on the floor nearby, propped up against the wall and smoking a cigarette. Rhys has only seen him do that in quiet moments when Jack is working on a particularly tough problem and he can almost see the solution. He always said it helped him think, gave his hands something to do.

“Well, well,” Jack says, blowing smoke in Rhys’ direction. “Look who decided to join the party,” as if he hadn’t been _directly_ responsible for Rhys’ condition.

“I know, I know,” Jack says when Rhys just looks at him. “Filthy habit.” He fishes the small carton out of his jacket pocket and offers it to Rhys, as if he hasn’t apparently been hanging out with Rhys’ unconscious body. Rhys shakes his head cautiously, propping himself up on his elbows, still not sure what’s going to get him through the next few minutes - if anything will.

“Good choice,” Jack says, winking and tucking the carton back away. “These things are murder on your lungs.”

There is nothing remotely safe to say to that, so Rhys sits up, trying to assess the damage. His neck is sore and breathing hurts, but that’s no surprise. What _is_ a surprise is the way his shirt clings wetly to his chest, and when he touches it his fingers come away damp and faintly sticky.

“Yeah, well, you know how it goes,” Jack says lightly, before Rhys really understands what he’s looking at. “You’re strangling the life out of someone, you pop a boner, you take care of it.”

Rhys looks up at that, and Jack’s tucked himself back away but his pants are still undone, shirts hanging loose over the open fly. Rhys feels hot and then cold, embarrassment and anger taking their turns, but ultimately what he feels most is a bone-weary tiredness: of Jack, of this thing between them, of the way Jack won’t let him go.

For a moment he wishes he _hadn’t_ woken up again.

“See, here’s what I don’t get,” Jack says, shaking his head, as if they’re having anything like a normal conversation. “You _chose_ this. You chose -” he grinds out the rest of his cigarette on the floor instead of finishing that sentence, but Rhys hears the _you chose me_ loud and clear. “And now you want out?” Jack glares at him and shifts as if to get up, and Rhys doesn’t even think about it, he panics and tries to scramble backward, out of range.

Jack is already moving, though, and Rhys’ head is still fuzzy from the lack of oxygen. Jack grabs his ankle and yanks Rhys back toward himself, and the back of Rhys’ head hits the floor when his hands lose their grip on the smooth floor. When the room stops spinning Jack is looming over him, hands planted on either side of Rhys’ head, the lines of his face set hard and unforgiving.

Rhys honestly hadn’t expected to wake up again after Jack had closed his hands around Rhys’ throat; he has no idea what to say here that will get him through this time.

Might as well go with the truth, then.

Rhys lifts his left hand slowly, carefully, and Jack watches him intently but doesn’t stop him when Rhys settles his hand on Jack’s face.

“I did choose you, Jack,” Rhys says, tracing the lines of Jack’s mask. “Over and over I chose you. But it was the wrong choice, every time.”

Jack’s eyes glitter hard and cold. “Well ain’t that a bitch.”


	4. Out of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just run out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #5 for Jillus: “Please, just– hang on. Please. For me.” Timhelm 
> 
> I would like to apologize not only to god but also jesus. Dialed it up to 11.
> 
> Warnings: blood, injuries, implied character death

_Shit_. “You’re gonna be fine,” Wilhelm says, easing Tim down against a nearby boulder. “MedEvac is on the way. You just need to _hold on_.”

Tim grunts, still holding his side, and he doesn’t sit down so much as collapse when his legs give out. He makes a pained noise when his back hits the rock and he sits there, eyes screwed shut, breath hissing in and out between his teeth.

Of all the times to be without a goddamn hypo - Wilhelm hadn’t even thought to bring one. It was supposed to an quick-and-easy in-and-out no-survivors job. But then Tim had caught a ricochet in the side - not even a direct hit, a fucking _ricochet_ \- and then everything had gone to shit.

There were no survivors. Wilhelm had made sure of that.

“Yeah, I don’t-” Tim sucks in a breath, and Wilhelm wants to tell him to _stop talking,_ to save his energy, and maybe if Tim just _doesn’t say it_ this won’t be happening. “I don’t think that’s gonna fly this time.”

“Please, just - hang on.” Wilhelm almost doesn’t recognize his own voice, certainly doesn’t recognize the crack in it when he says, “ _Please_.” The next part slips out before he even realizes. “For me.”

Tim chuckles weakly, _wetly_ , and Wilhelm has heard dozens, hundreds of death rattles in his time but he would give anything not to hear this one.

“Sorry, big guy,” Tim rasps, and when he clumsily pats Wilhelm’s cheek his hand is warm and wet. “You know I would if I-” he coughs suddenly, doubling over from where he’s propped up. The rock behind him is smeared with red. “If I could,” he finishes.

This isn’t happening. Wilhelm never even worked up the nerve to-

He scans the sky to avoid looking at the way Tim’s face is rapidly losing color. He squints at a moving speck in the distance, but he can’t tell if it’s the promised MedEvac unit or just a rakk.

“Hey,” Tim whispers, and tugs feebly at Wilhelm’s vest. “Hey, c’mere.” His voice is getting weaker, and it’s been a long time since Wilhelm felt anything like panic but he’s pretty sure that’s what’s happening now. He turns back just in time to see Tim’s eyes refocus, and Tim smiles, somehow still able to look genuinely happy even as he’s bleeding out in this goddamn desert.

“You never asked, but I -” he coughs again, turning his head to the side, and a spatter of crimson soaks into the ground. “I would’ve said yes.”

“Yes to what,” Wilhelm says, distracted by what he hopes is the whine of an approaching hover unit but unwilling to look away again. If he can just keep Tim talking, maybe he can buy enough time for them to get here -

“To this,” Tim says. He pulls again on Wilhelm’s vest, more firmly this time, and when Wilhelm leans in close Tim fits their lips together like it’s nothing, like they’ve done this a million times, like Wilhelm can’t taste the blood on Timothy’s tongue.

Tim’s fingers go lax in Wilhelm’s vest, and his head lolls back. Wilhelm’s lips feel cold where Tim’s had been pressed against his. Dimly he hears the whine of a settling hovercraft behind him, but the pounding of boots on the ground is nothing to the pounding in his head.

Wilhelm lets white-gloved hands pull him back, lets uniformed personnel surround Timothy, lets the controlled chaos wash over and around him. When they bundle Tim onto a stretcher and into the hovercraft - and Wilhelm in the back, almost as an afterthought - he lets them move him without protest.

When their frantic movement slows and then stills, Wilhelm thinks that this is too much, too much for anyone to bear.

When they get back to Helios, when the furor dies down, Wilhelm quietly schedules the first in what will become a series of extensive cybernetic augmentations.

Cyborgs don’t feel, you see.


	5. Out of Options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes there isn't a way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #16 for Anon: “Listen. We both know I’m not making it through this.” Rhack
> 
> Warnings: blood, injuries, character death

“I love you. I’m sorry.”

_**10 minutes earlier:** _

“Listen,” Rhys says, and Jack steadfastly ignores him, trying instead to shift the wreckage without jostling him. “Listen,” Rhys says more insistently, his voice strained, “we both know I’m not making it through this.”

“The fuck you say,” Jack mutters, giving up on the debris for the moment and crouching in front of where Rhys is half-sitting, half-buried in rock and rubble. “Don’t give me that bullshit - you are coming back with me if I have to drag you every step of the goddamn way.”

Rhys chuckles weakly, and there is _nothing_ that is fucking funny about this clusterfuck but Rhys does it anyway. “Don’t think you have time for that,” he says. The tunnel shakes around them again as if to illustrate his point, and Jack wants to _scream_ at this whole goddamn planet; if - _when_ he and Rhys make it back to Helios Jack is going to raze Pandora to the _ground_. “Don’t think I do either,” Rhys continues, and Jack doesn’t know what _that_ is supposed to mean, until Rhys lifts his left hand away from where he’s been clutching his side.

The rebar has gone clean through Rhys’ body, and the deep crimson patch seeping into Rhys’ clothes seems to grow as Jack watches.

“Okay, we’ll just - we’ll just get you off of that.” Jack reaches forward but Rhys stops him with a hand in the middle of his chest.

“You can’t,” Rhys says matter-of-factly, and if it weren’t for the way his already pale face is getting paler Jack would think he was discussing dinner plans. “If you pull it out it’ll hurt like hell and I’ll just bleed out faster.”

“Okay - fuck, okay! I’ll just -” Jack starts to get up, then changes his mind and crouches down again. “We’ll just stay here. They’ve got loader bots on the surface - they can dig us out.”

“Can’t do that either,” and why does Rhys keep _arguing_ , why won’t he let Jack _fix this_. The tunnel shakes again, showering them with mine dust, and Jack is trying not to think about the way there’s less and less time between each tremor, the way each one is more violent than the last.

“You need to get out of here,” Rhys says quietly.

“Not without you,” Jack says just as quietly, and he pretends not to hear the desperation in his own voice.

“You _stubborn_ -” Rhys breaks off in a coughing fit. When his breathing slows again he looks up at Jack again and gestures him closer. “C’mere, jackass.”

“Look who’s talking,” Jack mutters, but lets Rhys draw him even though they are _wasting time_ , and doesn’t protest when Rhys presses his lips to Jack’s.

He does protest, however, when he feels something press into his chest. He looks down to see the pistol he carries in his thigh holster in Rhys’ hand, pushing him inexorably away.

“What the hell, Rhys?” Jack grinds out, moving reluctantly backward. “You’re not gonna shoot me.”

“No,” Rhys says very calmly. He turns the gun around and places the barrel against his temple, and Jack stops breathing. “No, I’m not.”


	6. Promise Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a picture frame on Jack’s desk that is always face-down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for Anon: "I made a promise I couldn't keep." PA Rhys AU.

There’s a picture frame on Jack’s desk that is always face-down. At first Rhys assumed it was because Jack’s desk is usually a mess, half-drunk coffee cups leaving rings and crumpled scraps of paper littering the shiny surface. The cleaner bots leave Jack’s desk alone on threat of disassembly, and so the only time it gets picked up up is when Rhys makes an attempt to straighten it in advance of important meetings.

The first time Rhys does it, he doesn’t think anything about the frame - just places it upright on the desk and continues to clean up. When Jack comes in, all Rhys gets for his efforts to make Jack not look like the slob he is is a snort. As Jack rounds the desk towards his chair he tips the frame flat on its face again. He doesn’t even look at it.

Rhys doesn’t know what to make of that. Why keep a photo on your desk you’re not going to look at? But the day to day business of keeping Hyperion running takes precedence, and it slips from his mind.

He remembers again a few months down the road, however, as he’s picking up Jack’s desk (again), and this time he looks at the picture before he sets it upright. It’s a young girl, no one he recognizes, and he wonders who she is to Jack. She looks happy. He sets her upright on the desk to see what Jack will do.

Jack flips the frame down, just like before, and says nothing about it at all.

It’s a few months more, when Rhys has built up some confidence that Jack’s not going to kill him on a whim, that Rhys finally works up the nerve to ask about it.

“So who’s this?” He says, tapping the back of the frame with two fingers. He’s just handed Jack his usual lunch order and the man is in a good mood; this seems as good a time as any.

Jack’s fingers pause in the middle of unwrapping his sandwich, though, and when he looks up Rhys finds himself re-evaluating that whole “probably won’t kill me” line of thought.

Jack slides the picture out from under Rhys’ fingertips and lifts it. He looks at the photo for a long minute, and his face is like nothing Rhys has ever seen. There’s pride there, and regret, and a look that Rhys can’t quite quantify; the nearest he can get is _hunger_ , and it’s the way Jack looks sometimes when he talks about eridium, when he talks about Vaults.

Then Jack puts the photo back face down on the desk and turns back to his computer, and the moment is over.

“She’s a promise I couldn’t keep,” Jack says evenly, eyes already back on his monitor. “Go back to work, cupcake.”

Rhys does, because what else is there to do?

The next day the picture is gone from Jack’s desk, and Rhys never asks about it again.


	7. Twice Bitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothy doesn't mean to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #1 for Anon: “I don’t know if I can save myself. And i guess that’s all right.” Rhack
> 
> I am so glad Anon asked for this because it gaves me an excuse to cheat and post something from an old AU that will never be finished. A long time ago @somesketchyshit did some sketches for a Vampire AU that were A M A Z I N G, and when [this one](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com/post/128542452714/somesketchyshit-follow-up-to-this-when-jack) was posted it inspired me to write this scene which I then never did anything with. D: So the exact language of the prompt isn’t in it, but the spirit of it definitely is.
> 
> Vampire AU, Jack/Rhys/Timothy. Kinda. They’re not at that point yet; right now it’s Jack/Rhys and Tim hanging around being mopey.

Timothy doesn’t mean to do it.

It’s just that Rhys smells _so_ fucking good, and Timothy’s been so hungry for so long…

Rhys’ head rolls back against Timothy’s shoulder. Timothy hasn’t felt this good, this _sated_ since he was turned, maybe, and he’s just going to take another mouthful, maybe two -

Then there’s a hand in his hair and he’s jerked back, away from Rhys. Without Timothy’s arms around him Rhys slumps to the side, and that’s a bad sign, that’s a _bad_ sign, but as Timothy’s back hits the floor his vision is filled with Handsome Jack’s snarling face, and _oh shit._

Jack is kneeling over Timothy, one hand holding Timothy’s head still with an iron grip on his jaw.

“Oh, you have been a _naughty_ boy, Timmy.” Timothy has seen Jack angry before but he has never heard Jack sound like this. Jack’s voice often rolls with the promise of violence, but there’s an undercurrent here that Timothy doesn’t dare guess at, not with Jack clearly one step away from murder, and Rhys bleeding out on the floor -

Jack jerks Timothy’s head back when he tries to look at Rhys.

“Eyes on me, Lawrence.” Jack’s grip tightens. “You want to explain to me what I just walked in on?”

“I -” Timothy can’t. There is no explanation that will save him, no explanation he can even offer himself. He’s killed Rhys, and now Jack is going to kill him, and Timothy is not sure he would stop Jack even if he could.

A weak cough breaks the silence, and - impossibly - Timothy hears Rhys stir.

“I’m- I’m fine, Jack.” Rhys sounds pretty damn far from fine; he sounds woozy and out of it, but just the sound of his voice makes Timothy close his eyes in relief. Rhys isn’t dead. Timothy still might not survive the next few minutes, but at least Rhys will.

“You are _not_ fine, dumbass.” Jack turns his head to look at Rhys but his grip on Timothy never falters. “It’s going to take you _days_ to recover from that kind of blood loss,” and here Jack looks back at Timothy, “but he _will_ recover, because if he doesn’t -”

Jack laughs, sharp as broken glass, and squeezes Timothy’s jaw. “I’ve put a lot of work into you, Timmy-boy, and it would be a real shame to have to separate such a handsome head from its shoulders.”


	8. Popular Opinion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Jack ever doubts himself, he can always check in with Rhys, right? Rhys will set him straight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #15 for cinnamonrolltiv: “I’m not a bad person. I can’t be. They’re wrong.” Rhack
> 
> Warnings: minor mentions of blood and death

“I’m not a bad person,” Jack says through his teeth as he washes his hands. “I can’t be. I am the _hero_ of this goddamn story.”

Rhys leans in the doorway and watches, but he doesn’t reply. There’s nothing to say. Instead he watches as the water swirls red and then pink down the drain.

Jack dries his hands and turns to face him. There’s blood still spattered on his mask but his hands are clean as he slides a hand up Rhys’ neck to cup his jaw. Rhys leans into it.

“They’re wrong about me, aren’t they Rhysie,” Jack says, rubbing a thumb over Rhys’ lower lip. Rhys’ lips part, and he takes the half-step forward to press his lips to Jack’s.

Rhys kisses Jack and thinks about Pandoran settlements set ablaze, about the Angel Project, about the corpse cooling on the floor in the other room.

“Of course they are, handsome,” he murmurs when he draws back, eyes hooded. Jack breaks into an easy grin.

“You’re goddamn right they are,” he says, patting Rhys’ cheek and moving past him. “Your turn - although you might want to hit the shower. You got more enthusiastic than I did.”


	9. He Loves You/He Loves You Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys doesn't have any good answers for the girl in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #13 for Anon: “It’s my fault.” Rhack feat. Angel
> 
> Warnings for Jack being the awful father that he is.

“This is -” Angel retches again and Rhys rubs what he hopes are soothing circles into her back, although he doesn’t know how much she’s feeling external stimulus right now. “Rhys, this is _my fault_ , I made him do this.”

“Hush, sweetie, it’s not your fault.” _It’s Jack’s_ , Rhys thinks, but he doesn’t voice it aloud. Instead he sweeps Angel’s hair - what’s left of it - back over her shoulder and out of the way, careful of the still-healing skin on the right side of her skull. The surgeon was good; the incisions were precise and they’re healing up nicely. But as Rhys looks at the red and puffy skin around the blocky new ports he realizes with a sick feeling that these weren’t ever intended to come out.

“It _is_ ,” Angel sobs in between heaving gasps. “If I could just _control_ it the way he wanted maybe I wouldn’t need the eridium.”

“You’ll - you’ll get used to it, I’m sure.” _Please god, let her get used to it_. “It won’t always be like this.” Rhys wishes for the tenth, for the hundredth time he had found the right thing to say to Jack to stop him from moving forward with the injections.

He’s starting to think that maybe there was no right thing. And now he’s here helping Jack’s daughter cope with the initial stages of eridium overexposure, through the shaking and the vomiting and the screaming, not knowing if it’s going to get worse or better, or what better even looks like.

Jack himself is nowhere to be found.

“Do you think,” Angel asks in a small voice, “Do you think he’d still love me if I wasn’t a Siren?”

“Oh, Angel, honey.” Rhys gathers her up and rocks her gently, careful of the wings flickering in and out of existence behind her. “You know he loves you. He’s just -” _Driven. Obsessed_. And neither of those are good enough to justify what Jack’s done to the child in Rhys arms, so Rhys keeps them to himself. “We both do, no matter what.” _No matter what he does to you_.

Angel sniffles against his shirt but doesn’t respond. Rhys isn’t sure he has any more answers for her anyway. He’s not sure he has any more answers for himself.


	10. Your Finger On My Trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim sometimes finds working for Jack...difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #15 for ssealdog: "I’m not a bad person. I can’t be. They’re wrong." Timothy Lawrence.
> 
> Warnings: identity confusion, oblique death mention

Tim wakes up in the middle of the night and smells smoke.

He thrashes his way into a sitting position, heart racing, and breathes in deeply. It’s still there. Tim looks up at the unobtrusive smoke monitor set into the ceiling and holds his breath until it blinks a peaceful green at him.

Nothing’s actually on fire, then. But the acrid burn of smoke still curls in Tim’s lungs.

Tim gets up out of bed and hits the lights. He vividly remembers stuffing the clothes he’d been wearing at Paradise Crossing down the garbage chute, but maybe he had missed something…

Tim makes a quick circuit of his small quarters and even checks under the bed. Nothing. He hadn’t really thought so.

Tim runs a hand through his hair in frustration and as his hand passes his face the smoky smell briefly intensifies. Frowning, he brings his hand back down to his face and sniffs.

It’s been three days. There shouldn’t be anything left. But as Tim inhales the unmistakable tang of ash hits his nostrils and his stomach flips.

Tim’s in the bathroom before he realizes he’s started moving, and he watches himself turn on the faucet and start soaping up his hands as if someone else is controlling his body. Distantly he wonders if maybe he’s still asleep, if this is some sort of nightmare, but he doesn’t think he’s going to be that lucky.

As Tim rinses his hands and starts lathering again he looks up into the mirror, and Jack’s face stares back at him.

“I’m not a bad person,” he tells it, and pretends he doesn’t hear the crack in his voice. “I can’t be.”

Tim knows there are things Jack doesn’t tell him. Jack doles out information in bits and pieces, keeps secrets like it doesn’t occur to him not to. He lies as easily as he breathes, and he seems to really believe the hero narrative he spins around himself.

So did Tim, once. He’s not so sure he does anymore.

Paradise Crossing had been in the way of a mining outpost. It had been small, abandoned by Atlas settlers long before Hyperion had arrived, barely even a dot on the map.

Abandoned by the original settlers, yes.  Devoid of human inhabitants - no, as it turned out.

Tim’s not sure even now if Jack had known that the small town - barely more than a collection of buildings, really - had been _re_ settled. He doesn’t know if Jack had purposely not told him, or if it just hadn’t occurred to Jack that that might be important. He doesn’t know who the people inside those buildings had been, only that after charges had been detonated and the accelerant caught, there hadn’t been anything Tim could do but watch.

He had actually tried to go back in when the first screams had reached him, brain empty of everything but a panicked disbelief, but the heat had forced him back as the flames swept through the buildings. Ash and smoke had permeated his clothing as he watched helplessly, as the full realization of what he had done hit him.

Of what _Jack_ had done, Tim corrects himself.

Because it was Jack who had sent him down there, wasn’t it? It was Jack’s idea, Jack’s plan - Timothy was just the tool Jack had used to carry it out. It’s not - _Timothy Lawrence_ didn’t burn a settlement to the ground, Tim reasons. It was Jack’s thumb on the detonator, even if it had been in Tim’s hand. Tim is an extension of Jack’s will, nothing more.

Jack’s told him so. More than once.

“I’m not a bad person,” he tells Jack’s reflection again as he dries his hands. They’re pink and tender but at least they don’t smell like smoke anymore. Jack smiles back at him. “I can’t be, because I didn’t do those things.”

“Jack did.”


	11. Goodnight/Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody dies. Nisha has known this since she was a little girl. She doesn't know why she thought Jack would be exempt from that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #6 for pagerunner-j: “People like me, we aren’t supposed to get happy endings, y’know?” Jack/Nisha
> 
> Warnings: off-screen character death

Nisha has always known there was a bullet with her name on it out there. She’s dealt enough death to have very few illusions about it; she knows that no matter how fast or how lucky you are, eventually there will be someone faster or luckier.

So she’s not sure why she’s finding the news of Handsome Jack’s death so hard to believe.

Jack had never quite believed in the possibility of his own death the way Nisha did. Dying was something that happened to other people, as far as Jack was concerned. He had had himself so convinced of his own invulnerability that Nisha supposed she had started to believe it too.

Which is why she’s here, sitting on a roof at the highest point in Lynchwood, getting steadily drunk on middling bourbon and looking up at Helios, hanging steadily in the sky. Idly she wonders what it’s like up there right now, in Jack’s glittering monument to his own ambition; what sort of power scramble is going on to fill the void that Handsome Jack left behind. It doesn’t sound appealing at all, and she’s suddenly glad to be here, in her town, where her word is law. That, at least, she can rely on to hold her steady while the world tilts around her.

(Although that last bit might be the bourbon.)

Tomorrow things will resettle; she’ll be the Sheriff of Lynchwood, and she’ll maintain order in a lawless place. But tonight she’s just Nisha, contemplating things like time and chance, and how fast or how lucky you have to be to best the man who was bent on bringing a planet like Pandora to its knees.

Nisha had tamed her own little corner. But Jack had always dreamed bigger.

“It’s all right, I guess,” she tells the empty night air. “People like us don’t get happy endings.”

The wind swirls her words away and doesn’t answer back.

Nisha knows her death is out there, and that it’s only a matter of time before that bullet catches up with her. She’s always been a live-in-the-moment kind of person as a result; when tomorrow’s not guaranteed, you have to take today for all it’s worth. That, at least, had been one thing that she and Jack had agreed on.

She had been told that the vault hunters had taken his mask. She wonders what they had made of what was underneath it.

If she were someone more sentimental, she supposes she might be thinking something like, “everything is different now.” She’s not, and she knows that’s not true. Hyperion will either straighten itself out or it won’t; if it doesn’t, a new corporation will step in to take its place. Eridium is too valuable to be left untapped. Pandora has weathered the rise and fall of both Atlas and Dahl. It will weather this too, and so will she.

And if the vault hunters shows up on her doorstep, she’ll be ready.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [ThirtySixSaveFiles](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


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